The Missing Piece of the Puzzle
by Anon007
Summary: Sucky title. Might be changed to M later. Who wants to see what happens when a rather sheltered Lord of a certain Dominion meets a somewhat perverted diplomat who also happens to be a professional Hockey player? Wait...what's Hockey again?
1. Chapter 1

**To those who are reading Love and Respect, it will be continued. I'm working on chapter 5 as of now but couldn't resist this. This may turn into a collection of plot bunnies but I might decide to make it a multi-chapter. Tell me what you think eh. **

Ch. 1

Alfred Jones couldn't help but let out a groan as he re-read the letter his brother had sent. Personally, he had had enough of attending functions to better country relations, but, sadly, as a Lord of a rather powerful country, he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

'And to top it off it is in...Canada. 'He thought bitterly, after double-checking the name. Why they couldn't just come to America like all the other diplomats, Lords and Ladies was a mystery. The only place American Lords and Ladies had to go to was their Motherland, Great Britain, as did all other British Dominions.

And to make things worse Canada was made up of the English _and _the French. How the Sovereign State had managed to survive, let alone become a Western Powerhouse was still a mystery. Perhaps it had something to do with how much they kept to themselves, social-wise.

Placing the letter under a paperweight, he walked into the kitchen after hearing the teapot whistle. Although he was more of a coffee person, he couldn't deny a good cup of (flavoured) tea helped him sleep significantly better. Especially since his bed was so cold these days.

Pulling up his cuffs, he let out a sad sigh as his late wife came into his mind. She was someone that he could whole heartedly call his best friend. But that was all he could call her. Despite being wedded for seven years he could never bring himself to be intimate with her.

Sure, they were affectionate with each other. But that never went further than slightly heated kisses. He just couldn't do it. But she was understanding of his plight, said he would know when he was ready. So she waited.

Waited until the day a bullet went through her heart. The murderer had been caught but it did nothing to ease Alfred's sense of loss.

Keeping up his duties had been made that much harder after that, the emptiness of this gigantic mansion seeming to swallow him every time he acknowledged it. Even the numerous servants that were present during the day failed to make the place feel...inhabited for lack of a better word.

Remarrying was never even considered. He would not be able to bear taking another woman as his wife. And the odds of anyone being as tolerant as Madeline was intimacy-wise, was slim.

Feeling his thoughts going down an even more depressing lane, he cut them off, choosing to focus on the calming Lavender-Vanilla scent of the tea he was making.

Inhaling the soothing fumes from the teacup, he felt his tense muscles relax and his mind calm.

Savouring the comforting heat of the first sip sliding down his throat, he made his way to the armchair nearest to the partially-opened window, already feeling the slight draft of cool breeze caress his skin.

'Rest first.' He decided. Worry and Frustration could wait for tomorrow.

A week later saw Alfred hurriedly getting dressed as the servants rushed from place to place ensuring all was in order for their master's departure.

As he pulled a black, furred trench coat over his shirt and dress pants, a loud purring sound signalled the arrival of his carriage, as did the sound of the servants rushing to take Alfred's luggage out.

Hurriedly pulling on a pair of white gloves quickly followed by black, heeled winter boots, he strode out the door, grabbing his umbrella along the way. He had been warned that the weather in Canada would be rather cold and rainy this time of year.

As he approached the magic-driven carriage, he heard someone calling.

"Lord Jones."

Turning at the sound of his name he saw a rather tall, violet eyed blond walking up to him, a white envelope clutched in gloved hands.

"Lord Braginski." He greeted the Russian lord, nodding. "You require something of me?"

"Indeed. Your brother has informed me of your visit to Canada." Without waiting for Alfred's response, he then continued, "If it is not too much of a bother, would you mind giving this to one, Mr. Williams? You will meet him before the first day of your arrival is up. I would have sent it there by other means but I felt this would be less of a bother to him. "

He handed the envelope to Alfred who accepted it.

"No trouble at all, Lord Braginski. Though, if I may say so, you seem to know more about my trip than I do."

The Russian smiled.

"Da. And unless I am mistaken, you are running late, are you not?"

Alfred's eyes widened as he remembered that, yes, he was running quite late.

"Why, yes, I believe I am. I'll be seeing you, Lord Braginski. Take care."

With that Alfred climbed into the carriage and was off.

True to the warning, it was pouring rain and freezing by the time Alfred arrived at the hotel in Canada, about two hours later, where several members of staff in hooded coats were waiting under the portico to collect his luggage.

It was actually just late afternoon, but the dark clouds and cold winds would have one believe it was the dead of night.

As Alfred exited the carriage, his chauffeur holding his umbrella above his head, he couldn't help but pull his trench coat tighter even though almost everything he was wearing was spelled to repel the freezing temperatures.

Alfred dearly hoped the rain would let up soon as he would much like to explore a bit before night fell. He had been invited to attend some sort of game in which one of Canada's top diplomats was competing. Something called 'Hockey'.

Whatever it was, Alfred hoped it wouldn't be exceedingly boring.

With that thought in mind, he entered the building.


	2. Chapter 2

MPotP Ch. 2

Three Hours. It took three hours for the downpours to cease. By that time, night had just fallen and a high-ranked member of Canada's government was expected to arrive any moment to escort Alfred to the competition.

As if on cue, three soft knocks sounded sat his room door.

Setting his long since empty coffee cup on the coaster, Alfred stood and marched over to the door, opening it with one swift turn of the knob after making sure it was, indeed, the person assigned to escort him.

"Lord Jones." Greeted a hazel-eyed brunette, snapping into a salute. He decked out in red and black – Canada's Police uniform if Alfred wasn't mistaken.

Giving a polite nod in response, Alfred offered his hand to which warm lips were promptly pressed and just as promptly removed. A small part of tradition kept from before the overthrow of the royal families...with a few alterations of course.

Good to know that the Canadians had done their homework properly.

"And you are?" Alfred enquired

"Jacques Marome, sir." The officer responded.

Alfred nodded.

"Shall we?" he enquired, pulling on his gloves, having dressed earlier.

Taking his umbrella from the stand, the two left.

-xx-

"I trust your stay has been good so far, sir? No troubles at the hotel?"

Alfred looked up from where he had buried as much of his face as possible in the furred collar of his coat.

"My stay so far has been exceptional. The hotel staff makes some rather delectable coffee. No offense, but is it always this cold in the beginning of winter?"

The rainfall had ceased but the winds seemed to become even colder. In the short while it had taken Alfred to walk from the front steps to the carriage, what part of his face had been exposed was freezing, every inhale felt like fire was running up his nostrils.

Mr. Marome, in contrast, hadn't even looked fazed.

He was surprised when the man stifled a laugh.

"Apologies, but this has actually been a...warmer start to our winters than usual, Lord." The amusement in his voice was palpable.

Alfred stared. Only the etiquette lessons that had been practically _hammered_ into his head, and then some, stopped him from outright gaping. If he hadn't known any better, he would've thought Canadians had antifreeze in their blood.

"If it is any consolation, sir, the stadium is warmer than the temperature outside."

Alfred sighed. "I hope so."

He rubbed his lips together and winced as he felt the chapped lips grind against one another. Looking through his pockets, he quickly located his lip balm and applied it.

Satisfied that his lips no longer felt like desert soil, he returned to the shelter of his coat collar. Despite the carriage being moderately warm, it was comfortable.

-xx-

"Sir? We've arrived."

Marome's voice drew Alfred out of his comfort-induced haze.

Blinking drowsily, he pulled up his hood and exited the carriage, and the two hurried into the domed stadium, eager to escape harsh winds.

As they entered the stadium it got slightly warmer. That did not, however, stop Alfred from (almost reflexively) pulling his coat tighter around himself after reluctantly pulling down his hood. He always did that when the temperature was colder than what he was comfortable in despite it doing nothing for his body as everywhere covered felt nearly nothing of the cold.

Arthur told him it was what people used to do before magic had been discovered and harnessed. In plain terms he had been called an old timer by his older brother. In retaliation, Alfred had one of the maids hide all of his brother's Earl Grey tea for the duration of his stay. Alfred told him it had been 'disposed of'.

His left ear still throbbed when he thought about it.

"This way, sir. We have the best seats in the house."

He was led straight to seats next to a large glass box - right in front of the frozen field.

Alfred listened as Marome enthusiastically explained the basic rules of the game, what certain structures in the stadium were called (the frozen field was called an 'ice rink' and the large glass box, he learned, was for players put on penalty) and short biographies of team players on both sides .

When Alfred enquired whether Marome knew them personally, as the man had referred to them only by their first names, he was answered with a laugh and a "Do forgive me but I have been asked to not reveal which team our diplomat is on, sir. All in good fun."

All in all, the game didn't _sound_ boring, Alfred mused. Then again, Polo hadn't sounded boring either.

The game started off fairly normal with both teams fighting to either keep or steal the small, black 'puck' to shoot into the net .

Alfred's eyes were drawn to a particular player whose Jersey bore the number '67' beneath what Alfred assumed to be a surname. He couldn't quite make it out with all the smooth and swift twists and turns the man was making.

It wasn't that he moved faster or more gracefully than the other players because Alfred honestly couldn't tell what would _be_ more graceful here. All the players glided on the ice as if they had been born to do so and their speed changed as the occasion called for it.

No, it was just how..._aggressive_ he seemed. How he held himself. It was the stance of someone who wasn't going to leave without what they came for.

However, his attention was quickly diverted when the puck was stolen by a member of the opposing team.

The poor soul had barely passed in front of the young lord when suddenly a full body slam saw the player practically kissing the barrier, making Alfred jump slightly in his seat.

Harmless blue shock waves rippled out over the dome, originating from where player Number 56 (LeBlanc) made contact.

For almost three seconds, Blue eyes met violet, which were glistening with...malice almost as Alfred focused his gaze on the person who had body slammed LeBlanc into the dome.

Alfred felt a sudden heat seize his body, his heartbeat (and breathing) sped up and he could have sworn the icy cold of the stadium had suddenly turned sweltering.

As their gaze broke, the other player speeding off with the puck (it was Williams, Alfred found out after the game), the cold came back with a vengeance and had Alfred burying his face as far into his coat as it would go, taking deep, slow breaths, all the while completely neglecting his hood, which he would (even later) admit to himself, he had forgotten about.

He couldn't decide whether the rest of the game passed by too quickly or not quick enough.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the delay! had internet troubles among others. Enjoy and review plz.

Ch. 3

"We will be meeting Mr. Williams shortly, Lord. May I get you anything? Something to drink or snack on until we arrive at the restaurant?" Marome asked as they exited the stadium. Knowing the American Lord had little fondness for the cold, he led him to the nearest Tim Hortons , which was predictably, packed. Luckily he had managed to reserve a semi-secluded table for the three of them and had had gotten a few RCMP members to hang around in casual clothing...just in case.

Alfred pondered this for a moment before responding. "A drink, thank you. Something a bit warm? With Milk. I don't much know what drinks are available. No tea, please."

"Then may I suggest the Mocha Latte? One of their best, sir."

"You may." Alfred responded, as they entered the establishment.

As the smell of fresh brewed coffee entered his nostrils, Alfred found himself anticipating the arrival of that Latte.

Shivering slightly due to the temperature change (the gel-like film at the door lessened the shock but he still felt a little of it), Alfred followed Marome to a table in the corner that had been roped off.

As they approached, two employees hurriedly removed the stanchions blocking the table before returning to serving the masses.

Alfred loosened the uppermost buttons on his trench coat and took a seat as Marome hurried off to get their drinks.

Sighing as he settled down on the cushioned seat, he removed his slightly smudged glasses and polished them with the end of his coat.

After replacing them on his face, he then proceed to engage in one of his favourite hobbies: People Watching.

The patrons of Tim Hortons were either mulling about, enjoying meals at their tables (in some cases, drinking coffee while standing) or waiting in line. All of them however, were avidly (and loudly) discussing the hockey game. One brunette woman in particular was gesturing rather wildly as she retold the highlights of the game to a red-haired man who had apparently managed to miss it, her voice being heard even above the chatter of everyone else in the place.

Marome came back about a minute later carrying two small cups bearing the Tim Hortons logo with 'Latte' on one of them.

"Here you are, sir. I do hope you enjoy it."

Alfred accepted his Latte with a polite 'Thank You', letting his gaze wander back to the patrons in the coffee shop while taking small mouthfuls. It was rather good, dare he say.

He never really went 'out and about' much back home so just sitting in an ordinary coffee shop filled with ordinary citizens, without a battalion of bodyguards was a new experience for him (well...guards in uniform, that is – He'd been told officers in plain clothes had been stationed in the near vicinity).

Even in his youth, if it wasn't some business function it was one wild, high-end party after another – never was he actually able to blend in. His title and reputation made sure of that.

"Mr. Marome?"

The RCMP Captain looked up. "Sir?"

"Who was the player that slammed...LeBlanc, right? - Number 56, into the barrier? Number 67, I think. I could not see his title all that well."

It had been bugging him ever since it happened. What the hell was wrong with him? He dearly hoped he hadn't caught fever! Or the flu! But he felt fine now...

"Oh, him? That was Mr. Williams, sir."

Alfred paused in shock.

"He was playing rather..tame, tonight. I assume he wanted to make a good impression."

"Oh." Alfred murmured, softly.

"Speaking of him, he should be about done by now. Unless the fans caught him again." Marome sighed. "I swear, they are almost as rabid as some of the team members."

Despite himself, Alfred couldn't help but feel rather...intimidated? But not quite? It was that same shiver up his spine whenever he remembered that glimmer in Williams' eyes.

Why the hell was this man making him so...nervous! Yes, that was it! (Well sort of.)

He took another mouthful of his Latte only to note it was almost done judging by how light the cup had gotten. The drink had also gotten a bit cooler, but not by much .

A long time ago, this would've caused Alfred to pout and then complain, but now he gave a soft sigh. He would have come back here, sometime. Their Latté, at least, was good. Maybe he'd get a bigger one.

Just as Alfred had taken the last sip of his drink, a hooded figure strode in.

Alfred didn't think too much of it, as it _was_ winter, until the figure made his way to their table.

Catching a glimpse of violet eyes and pale skin, Alfred realized it was the player from before – Mr. Matthew Williams. The Canadian diplomat he was supposed to meet.

Suddenly remembering the letter Lord Braginski had given him, he stood up to greet him. But before he could introduce himself, Mr. Williams hushed him.

"Later. Where they can't hear us or we'll never leave." He whispered, making Marome jump.

"Oh, sir. I was wondering when you would arrive." The man whispered, gathering their empty cups to dispose of.

Mr. Williams' distressed groan seemed to be all the answer he needed. Stifiling his laughter, Marome threw the cups in the garbage as the men departed.

"Apologies for the informal...greeting, Lord Jones." The diplomat started after they had entered the carriage. "But, had my identity been revealed, the results would have been ...let's just say I doubt that you would like to be trapped under the stampede."

As he spoke, the hood was loosened and pulled down to reveal a head of platinum blond hair, pale sin and those shockingly violet eyes.

"It's fine...Mr. Williams." Alfred spoke softly, in a slight daze as he studied the other man's features. Had that been done to done to him by anyone else, Alfred knew all too well he would have gotten up and left without another glance.

But that damned weird feeling in his gut made him stay.

"Many Thanks for your understanding." A pale hand grasped one of his and guided it to a pair of full, pink lips.

As the warmth met his hand, Alfred dearly hoped his face did not show how rapidly his heart beat.

Perhaps he should have stayed in America.


End file.
